


Think Like A Slytherin

by Llaeyro



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Community: interhouse_fest, Guard/Prisoner Dynamic, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Switching, implied stockholm syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-08 23:36:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8867758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llaeyro/pseuds/Llaeyro
Summary: After the war, Bill wants the new Minister to pull a few strings for him. Before he’ll do so, however, Minister Shacklebolt needs to know everything.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Gelsey for the beta. This was an entry for interhouse_fest 2016. [Read on LJ](http://interhouse-fest.livejournal.com/132522.html).

“If you want me to grant your request, I need all the details, Bill.” Kingsley leans back in his chair, fingers steepled in front of him, surveying Bill over their tips.

“You heard everything at the inquests, especially when Harry was trying to get Snape his posthumous Order of Merlin.”

“You revealed a lot, yes. But that knowledge makes me question your request even further. I do not want to invade your privacy, but if you want me to agree, you must let me understand why.”

Bill sighs, resting back in his chair and preparing for the long story. “I don’t know what else you want to know.”

“Just start at the beginning.”

-*-*-

Well, you know I was travelling, recruiting for the Order. I’d Apparated into the New Forest and they must have heard me. Three snatchers jumped me before I could get any charms up. They had a camp nearby, tied me up with five others, wrote down my name. They gave us water but no food for a couple of days, caught two more, a man and a woman, and then Apparated us in groups to Malfoy Manor. The couple were taken upstairs while the rest of us got led into the cellar. One of the snatchers stayed with us. He stood by the door, by the only lit candle on the wall, blindly sending hexes into the darkness towards anyone who tried to talk. Death Eaters would come in from time to time, shoving the light from their wands in our faces as they walked around. The snatchers would give them details: name, blood status, who they were travelling with. They’d pick one, take them with them, and we wouldn’t see them again. I couldn’t see who was left, but I watched and counted as they went. When they took the fourth, the snatchers were dismissed and we were left without a guard in the room. We stayed quiet for what must have been an hour or two, expecting them to come back. He started talking first. Lewis.

He’d met the other four on the run and had been with them for a few weeks. He was the youngest, barely twenty-one. The others were all half-bloods. We figured that’s why we’d been left. Purebloods, but blood traitors. As dire as the situation seemed, we knew we were probably in a better position than the others, at that moment. I don’t know how long the two of us were locked in that room for, alone. Others were brought in, but they never stayed long and never without a guard. We mostly talked about stupid things. Family, Quidditch, just… normality, to keep us sane. Well, first we’d had a look around, of course. They put out the last candle whenever they left, leaving us in complete darkness. We felt around with our hands bound, tripped over each other plenty, but the only opening in the solid brick was the door to the stairs, leading into the heart of the Manor. It was impossible to keep track of time. I’m sure they didn’t feed us every day, and when food did come, it was nothing more than the cold scraps from their own meals that we had to eat with our filthy hands. For water, there was a trough along one wall which they kept relatively clean. For a toilet, the far corner had been laid with hay. It reeked, and they didn’t refresh it nearly enough. They seemed to save the job as a punishment. The Death Eaters would bring in a lowly recruit, mocking them as they disposed of our piss soaked hay. Most of the time, though, it was the same hooded figure. Always in the quietest hours, those we guessed signalled the middle of the night, he would creep in quietly and deal with the mess. It was too dark to make him out save for the occasional glimpse of platinum hair as he opened the door, but many nights later I remembered the scent of his cologne, when I was dumped back in that cellar reeking of it myself. Knowing what we know now, given how far he had fallen within the ranks, the task had likely been put to him as a punishment, which he fulfilled quietly and without drawing attention to himself. Although I doubt he really had to come so frequently, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

It must have been weeks since we were captured in the forest, the first time they came to take Lewis. He didn’t cope well. He tried demanding to know where they were taking him, but they only laughed and cruelly reassured him that he’d be back in the cellar soon. He tried pleading, assuring them that he didn’t know anything of any use to them, but it wasn’t information that they wanted. I’ll never forget that first time they brought him back. They lit every single candle in the cellar, watching for my reaction as they hauled him in, feet dragging behind him, head hanging. His fair hair was plastered to his red, tear-stained face. His trousers were so torn they wouldn’t stay up and the back of his pants were wet. There was no mistaking what had happened, and now they were adding to his embarrassment, parading him in front of me.. They dumped him along the back wall, next to the piss pile. They laughed, called him names I’m sure you can guess at, one even gave him a kick in the stomach. They taunted him for enjoying an apparently generous meal without protest, until he saw the price on the bill.

He stayed there as they walked out, curling in on himself, sobbing silently. I never found out what they fed him, but it was certainly better than the scraps we’d been getting previously. Perhaps he decided that his… treatment afterwards was worth a decent meal. Perhaps he just grew tired of the futile fight every time they came to take him away. At the time I tried to convince myself that it was one or the other, for my own sanity as much as for his. Perhaps, in hindsight, these months wouldn’t seem so bad. Perhaps, with time, he would heal. Who was I kidding, right?

Anyway. Riddle’s favourite would get to go down into the cellar and take their pick. Lewis was younger, prettier, weaker. I was never picked, but not once did I feel glad. How could I, watching that boy suffer? He wouldn’t talk, wouldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep. Sometimes, when he woke up screaming, he would let me hold him the best I could manage with bound hands. It was all I could do for him. I went to see him yesterday. He threw himself at me and cried for hours. Healers called it progress, said it’s the first time he’s shown any emotion since he got there.

Anyway, I did try to do more for him at the time. A small group of them came down, congratulating one on his prize. I hadn’t seen him before, but they moved on Lewis before he had even spared me a glance. I knew I would never be able to get us out of here if I never got a chance to leave the cellar, and there only seemed to be one way out. I’d been thinking about it for a while, working out what I could offer them. For starters, I needed to make them question what they assumed about me. The assumptions that were stopping them from choosing me.

“What about me?” I called out. I had to say it again, because my voice was so hoarse from disuse. I said, “He’s green, but I know how to please a man.”

I remember the winner smirking as he stepped towards me. “Fucking Gryffindors, always so brave and chivalrous.”

“Fuck chivalry,” I said, “I want a half decent meal and it must have been months since I’ve even had a wank, nevermind been fucked. Why should he get it all when he’s not even grateful?”

They laughed and joked as they dragged Lewis away, one called back, “You’ve got balls, kid, I’ll give you that.” Another hung back, watching them ascend the staircase before removing his mask and turning to look at me. It was Lucius. He looked rather stunned, eyes wide as he took in the sight of me. He lit his wand and brought it to my face, fingers on my jaw turning my head to the right, hiding my scarred cheek. They shouted for him from the top of the stairs. In a swirl of robes and a flick of his wand, he was gone and I was alone again. In the dark.

When Lucius was brought down by the others to pick his prize, no one seemed more surprised than him. The others looked at him begrudgingly, grumbling about how Lucius’s actions were hardly that remarkable. I still don’t know what it was that Lucius did to earn the privilege. Looking back, Riddle probably leapt at the opportunity to reward him purely to keep Lestrange on her toes. Stop her getting over-confident or complacent.

Despite the others encouraging him to take Lewis, boasting the skills they had taught him, he moved to me.

He looked down at me and said, “I want this one.”

They questioned whether he could handle me. Lucius rounded on them, wand drawn. He pointed out my weight loss, how much of my muscle had wasted away through lack of food and exercise. Then he added, “Besides, he wants to come with me. He wants to behave for me. Don’t you, Weasley?”

I answered straight away. “Yes, sir.” 

Lucius carried on that I was also unarmed and sneered at the suggestion that he wasn’t as strong with his new wand. Turns out Lucius’s original wand was destroyed when Riddle attempted to use it to attack Harry, but that’s another story.

They cast a temporary blinding charm as they took me up the stairs, but I counted the steps, the turns, and always had a good idea of where I was in relation to the cellar. When he locked the door and lifted the blinding charm, I was in a rather lavish but sparse room. I later found out it was one of the many guest quarters. I can’t really explain why, but I tried to convince myself it wasn’t where they brought Lewis. We were in something like a sitting room, with a sofa, small dining table in one corner, writing desk in the other and a mostly empty bookshelf along one wall. Two ornate white doors led to the bedroom, and there was a large ensuite bathroom off of that.

He unbound my wrists and sent me into the bathroom to ‘freshen up’. I don’t know why I bothered using the manual lock on the door. Even as I did it, I remember thinking how pointless it was. I didn’t even try to wash, I was just looking for a way out. Anything I could take, break, use as a weapon, anything. There were potions in the cabinet, so I poured one down the plug hole, wrapped it in a washcloth and tried to smash it quietly against the sink. It wouldn’t break. I stamped on it, threw it on the floor, nothing. I tried to break the mirror next, but it just got arsey with me. It told me that everything had been charmed unbreakable and that I really needed to catch up on my personal grooming. Lucius opened the door and stood there, arms folded, looking at me with equal parts amusement and impatience. Told me it’s not too late for him to take me back and choose Lewis instead. I grabbed the comb and started to run the water.

Lucius stayed in the doorway while I got undressed and stepped into the shower. The water instantly pooled grey around my feet. My hair was so matted that no amount of teasing at it with the comb could sort it out completely. When I gave up, Lucius used his wand to trim my beard and hair. The hair was quite a bit shorter than I usually have it, but I figured that was due to the state it had gotten into. The beard, on the other hand, I could have done without entirely. Lucius said that he preferred it, though, and as he was the one who had to look at me, it would stay. I wasn’t really in any position to argue. He gave me a black silken dressing gown to put on and nothing else. It was rather short. I followed him back out of the bathroom, trying not to look at the large bed or think about what I knew would be coming later.

He pulled out the dining chair for me to sit first, and the food soon appeared. I can’t remember particularly what it was that first time, but it was always decadent. A bit poncy, often with strange ingredients from other countries, but delicious without exception. Still, nothing like Mum’s cooking. The portions were tiny, but they kept coming. Five or sometimes six courses. My deprived stomach had trouble coping with the sudden change in quantity, and it was a constant struggle to not practically inhale the food, I was that desperate for it. I behaved myself, though. Used the correct cutlery, napkin, elbows off the table; Mum would have been so proud.

Things were certainly… awkward. I tried to make small talk, maybe the lighten the mood, try and pretend I was there because I wanted to be rather than because I had no other choice. He shut me down rather quickly. I tried to look beyond the cold exterior, with the near-constant sneer. I was surprised it wasn’t actually that difficult. I mean, we all know he’s pretty easy on the eye but he’s really not in bad shape, either. Y’know, for his age. Anyway, there was something in the way he looked at me. I felt it, but I couldn’t figure it out at the time; his actions were so contrary to it. When I followed him back to the bedroom, he didn’t seem to know what to do with me. Sometimes, I thought he was going to kiss me, but he didn’t. It was mostly rather business-like. He kept his robes on, used the spell to prepare me and, y’know, pulled it out and got on with it, but there were little… moments. I thought a lot about those moments in the cellar later on. Wondering whether I really had felt his lips press between my shoulder blades. Maybe it was just my imagination, providing the little shred of intimacy I needed to forget that I shouldn’t be enjoying this. Wondering if he’d have given Lewis the reach-around, if he’d brought him to his bed instead of me.

Things went on much the same, for a while. No one else wanted a turn with me, so Lucius was free to fill his boots. He came back for me the next day, and the next. He loosened up a bit each time, and the robes gradually came off. Must have been the end of the week when he flipped me over, fucked me on my back. I could get a proper look at him, see the flex and ripple of his muscles under pale skin, feel the intensity of his gaze as he looked down at me. Then he turned my face to the side again. I just thought the scars were putting him off. I figured if I could just keep behaving, he’d relax enough for me to get the upper hand. I could overpower him, get his wand. Having such generous meals in the evening made the hunger more apparent through the rest of the day, but I’d still managed to get some of my strength back. He was still cautious with me, though. During sex, I was always bound in some way, so I couldn’t take advantage of him when his guard was down. He didn’t relax, and he still seemed rather… unsure. Instead, he came for me less frequently and was done with me quicker. He didn’t seem satisfied.

I knew I had to do something, or I’d lose the small advantages I’d gained. I couldn’t work out what he wanted from me. I’d been quiet, submissive, I’d tried begging for it, begging for him to be rougher. I thought about playing the victim, but it was a bit too close to home. I’d actually managed to enjoy the sex so far by drawing on the fact that I wasn’t being forced and pushing aside the knowledge that if I wasn’t so willing, it wouldn’t be a choice. Lucius always made sure I got off.

Anyway, he began spending some time in the bathroom when we were done, before sending me back. So I started cautiously exploring the room. Most of the drawers were empty, but I eventually came to one with Snape’s note in it. ‘William, for your eyes only.’ Obviously at the time I had no idea who had left it there or whether they were friend or foe. I figured it must be charmed so only I could see it. I wondered if it was a trap. I cautiously turned the note over and did a double take. It looked like me, with Lucius. I picked it up, gave it a proper look and saw it was Uncle Fabian, Mum’s brother. I think I was about ten when he died, wasn’t at Hogwarts yet, and with the war and all… we didn’t see him much. Mum’s side of the family has told me, though, how much I look like him. Lucius didn’t look too happy that the photo was being taken, even turning away. My uncle gives an apologetic look to the camera and turns to Lucius, leaning in to talk to him. Then it replays. There was something else there. Something in the look they shared, in the way Fabian’s hand comes to rest on Lucius’s forearm. I put it back before he returned and took some time so think about who might have left it there, why and what, if anything, I should do about it. If nothing else, a few things were then clear. I knew why he picked me, why he cut my hair, refused to cut my beard, and why he kept turning my scarred cheek away. He wanted Fabian.

I looked at the photo on a few more occasions and put it back. I was pretty sure there wasn’t anything else I could get from it, but I went to the same drawer anyway. The same note was there, but no photo. Instead, there were letters. It took me a few days to read them, careful not to get caught with them. They were all between Fabian and Lucius. They’d very clearly been involved with each other, until Lucius had become more and more involved with Riddle. Fabian tried to talk him out of it. He pleaded, threatened, promised… Well, we all know how it went.

As Fabian became more desperate to persuade Lucius away from Riddle, the letters became more personal, crude and revealing. It became clear why Lucius hadn’t been satisfied with our liaisons so far. I knew what I had to do.

Anyway, I called him on it after dinner one night. Told him that I could see he wasn’t satisfied with our arrangement and that I would do anything I could to fix that. He looked a little skeptical, but he nodded and we continued to eat in silence, as always.

In the bedroom, we both got undressed and I held my wrists out to be bound, as was our little routine. He hesitated, and I stepped forward. He raised his wand as I slowly reached up to cup his face. There was hesitation, caution in his stance, but in his eyes I could see the want. I stepped closer again and made promises of the things I could do to him, of how I could make him feel. I could feel his half hard cock brushing against my thigh. His breathing was heavy as he stared at me, inching closer. He hadn’t kissed me before, and it wasn’t at all what I’d expected. It was gentle, hesitant, and it took me a minute to realise that he was waiting for me to take the lead. I tentatively ran my fingers through his soft hair, deepening the kiss, pulling him against me. It was like… the cold exterior finally melted. He wasn’t putting on a show anymore. This was the real Lucius Malfoy—supplicant, eager.

My fingers trailed down to his neck, and I felt his fist tense around his wand as it rested at my waist. I kept going, trailing down to tease at his nipples. He likes that. I was expecting the usual cleaning and lubrication spells, but he cast them on himself. He got me to kneel on the bed, tied my ankles to the foot of the bed and my wrists to each other. Then he chucked me a jar of lube and knelt before me, bracing himself on the wrought iron headboard. It wasn’t easy, tied up like that, but I finger-fucked him slowly. I told him how beautiful he was, how much I wanted to sink my cock into him, watch him come undone—What’s the matter Kingsley? Well, you did say you needed _all_ the details, Minister. 

Alright, he started cursing at me to get on with it. I teased him a little, but I didn’t want to push my luck. He released my ankles but hoisted my wrists above my head, tied to the canopy frame. He reached behind himself to line me up as I pushed in, and he pushed back against me. He made little noises, as if he was trying not to. I realised it wasn’t just about the plan anymore, about getting him to trust me, relax around me. I _wanted_ to hear more, to make him scream for me. I wanted to give him what he needed. I know what you’re going to say, Kingsley. And yeah, possibly. I’m going through it with a mind healer so... let her worry about that, yeah? She knows why I’m here.

It wasn’t just me that noticed a change between us. Lucius started opening up more. We started talking over dinner, and I found that I actually quite enjoyed his company. I already knew he had an ability to charm—he wouldn’t have ever had the Ministry pull he once possessed without it—he’s also intelligent, observant and has a sharp wit.

He started coming for me more frequently again. The ropes became looser, I ate more and became stronger, but still I waited. I knew I’d only get one chance, and I couldn’t waste it. I kept going back to the drawer, re-reading the letters, grasping for information. That’s when I found my wand, with the note: ‘William, do not be hasty.’ Of course, I grabbed it and stood beside the bathroom door, back to the wall, adrenaline going crazy. I took some deep breaths, calmed down a bit and shoved the wand back in the drawer. I was back on the bed when Lucius returned, as if nothing had happened. I started planning. 

It took a few days to get the plan together. Every day I checked the drawer, and it was still there. I kept doubting myself, trying to think of alternatives. I think, maybe, I was trying to make excuses to spend more time with Lucius. I don’t know. Maybe afraid to leave the comfort of my routine. Maybe just scared I couldn’t pull it off.

He didn’t bind my hands that night. Just one ankle to the bedpost, his wand left across the room, out of my reach. I fucked him twice. Made him ride me, then fucked him up against the wall. I pulled his hair, bit his neck. He moaned, writhed and begged me for more so beautifully. I was… reluctant, but the thought of getting Lewis out of that cellar was more than enough motivation. When Lucius went to the bathroom, I grabbed my wand and used simple charms to seal the door and cancel any noise I might make. I knew it wouldn’t take him long to get out, but I hoped he wouldn’t notice straight away, and it would buy me a little more time to do a number on the main bedroom door. It nearly worked. I had his robes on when he burst back into the bedroom, wand raised, naked and desperate.

He begged me not to do it. Tried to convince me it was futile, I’d never make it out without being caught. That they’d kill me. He sounded as if he actually cared what happened to me. I told him as much. Accused him of only caring about my cock. Then he did something really unexpected, really caught me off guard.

He called me by my name.

You’ve gotta understand, because it was always the two of us, we didn’t often have need to call each other by our names. When he did, it was always Weasley. Never Bill. Never.

I laughed. Ran my hand through my short hair, my beard. Showed him my good cheek. “Don’t you mean Fabian?” I asked him.

He stepped forward, eyeing my wand. He lowered his, reaching up to cup my face, urging me to face him. He just said, “Bill, stay. Please.” Of course, I couldn’t.

I backed away to the door. He said he couldn’t let me do it. Tried to guilt me with what could happen to him, or his wife or son. I had to. I told him so. Tightened my grip on my wand, begged him not to make me do it. He didn’t.

-*-*-

“Why weren’t you at his trial?”

Bill grimaces. He’d expected that little fact might cause him grief. “Nothing I could have honestly said about him would have seen him done any favours. Besides, I was still dealing with everything. Trying to get my head around it all. Work out what was real and what just seemed a certain way under extreme circumstances.”

“And you’ve done that now?” Kingsley is leaning forward over the desk now, surveying Bill carefully.

“For the most part. I know my own reality. It’s just Lucius’s which remains uncertain.”

“What is it you see in him, Bill? Tell me, honestly.”

Bill takes a deep breath. “I see… a man who knows who he is, and needs someone to validate it. He needs to follow, to please, to be praised and validated. If he falls into the wrong hands, he can be a dangerous resource, as we’ve seen. He knows about the people, the spells, the artifacts that your Auror department faces daily. He’s clever, persuasive, manipulative and knowledgeable. And I can help you put all that to use.”

“Very well, he’s all yours. I’ll have to get the paperwork together, so I’ll owl it to you in the next few days. You will have to go and collect him yourself, though. There will be a trace put on him to ensure he doesn’t use magic. If it is activated, the consequences won’t just fall upon him. You understand me, Bill?”

“Don’t worry, Minister. I’ll have him on a tight leash,” Bill winks, standing to take his leave.

“Whatever boils your potion, however, I’ve heard quite enough about your sex life for one day.” With a smile, Kingsley sees him out.

-*-*-

He takes the long way to Azkaban, awkward though it may be. The additional time allows him the chance to be sure he’s doing the right thing. When he sees Lucius, the uncertainty melts away. He looks sallow, drawn, tired. The one-size-fits-all prisoner garb is unflattering, making Lucius seem even smaller. When he sees Bill, however, he straightens up, uncurling his legs from under him to sit at his full height on the edge of the bed. An auror follows Bill into the cell, still surveying the paperwork.

“Yep, all seems to be in order.” He spares Lucius a look before turning to Bill. “You sure you can handle this one, Mr Weasley? He’s a slippery snake.”

“I know he is. But he wants to be good for me. Don’t you, Malfoy?”

Lucius’s lips quirk so slightly that Bill knows the almost-smile is just for him.

“Yes, Sir.”

_Fin_


End file.
